night light
by Nelauk
Summary: Gerald wakes up from a strange dream and meditates on night lights instead. rated T for some mild sexual themes. ONE-SHOT


**A/N:** if you're wondering, they're around twelve in this. admittedly i also took some...uh, creative liberties with the show (making it take place in the present, gerald being afraid of the dark, the whole deal), which i pray isn't a crime, but it sticks to the canon nonetheless. kinda. sorta. i don't even know lol whatever

He'd been dreaming again.

It had been intense enough that Gerald jerked awake and tossed his blankets aside. Silently he sat there, remembering that dream, and a deep, unrelenting blush crept across his face.

_Strawberries,_ he recalled, his mouth watering a little. _Lemons._

His body began to feel strangely warm as he reminisced how it felt towards the end of the dream. He could almost feel it; the soft hands, that sweet breath, and the feel of that delicate little body beneath that blue sweater.

Whispered declarations of love, and soft, nervous giggles. That shy smiling face, that gentle voice. His loins burned with an aching want.

Gerald suddenly felt a strange pressure in his boxers again and immediately he felt an immense shame wash over him. Hot with embarrassment, even though there was clearly no one in the room to witness it, he grabbed his blankets and swaddled himself in them. Breath trembling, Gerald waited for it to subside.

"I'm crazy," he hissed to himself. "I'm definitely crazy."

The boy rolled onto his back and silently watched and listened to the fan whirring up on the ceiling. It was still night out, and his bedroom was swathed in shadows, save for the night light that was lit in the corner. He was still, unfortunately, very much afraid of the dark.

Jamie-O had never let him hear the end of it. 'You think a girl wants a guy who still sleeps with a night light on, little man? They don't want that kinda guy.' Then one bit of mocking laughter and a rough noogie delivered to his head for good measure. And so on.

He _was_ right, as much as Gerald did not want to believe him. Girls didn't flock over to a man who couldn't hold his own in a dark room. It was _pathetic._

And...and it was _embarrassing _too, especially when his best friend was involved. Gerald remembered, when he and Arnold had sleepovers together, how he would always seize up when the lights went off. So Arnold, always so mindful, would smile assuringly at him, grab a night light from a drawer, get up, and plug it into one of the outlets. Gerald would always feel better afterwards and slept more soundly.

And yet it was still embarrassing though. Arnold never used night lights, because he, unlike him, was not afraid of the dark. And even _worse_-the trouble he put his friend through, having him get up every night, retrieve the night light, and walk across the entire damn room to plug it in! It was cruel, almost. Like he was a slave.

So one particular night a guilty Gerald, lying warm and cozy on his friend's couch, decided to ask him. It has been bothering him too much.

"Uh...Arnold?"

His friend had just plugged the light in once again. At the sound of his voice Arnold turned to face him, his eyes shining expectantly. "Yeah?" he answered sleepily.

"I'm not bothering you...am I?" Gerald went on. "I mean...with this whole night light thing."

At this, Arnold grinned and giggled, and for a moment it seemed as though the entire room had been lit up.

"Dude, don't worry about it," he chuckled, grinning perkily. "Gerald, I bought the night light for you, remember? Gotta put it to use."

And with that, Arnold got up and went back to bed. Neither of them said a word to each other afterwards.

And just as well, because that night, in the silence, save for the sound of Arnold snoring softly as he slept, Gerald had begun to realize.

As he had gazed up into the skylight, at the stars winking on that orangey black canvas, the boy had realized the true extent of his friend's kindness.

One day, it could've been any day, Arnold had remembered how his best friend was afraid of the dark. And because he remembered, the boy had decided to get up and walk all the way to the neighborhood grocery store to buy a night light, just for him and only for him. He had sacrificed a part of his allowance and had walked nearly a dozen blocks to get it.

All that trouble for a single light, because he _cared._

And so, as the result of Arnold buying the night light, at each sleepover he would get up and plug it in. And as the result of him plugging it in every time, Gerald had felt guilty and asked him whether he was okay with it or not. And as the result of asking him that, Arnold had laughed and told him not to worry. And as the result of his answer, Gerald had stared up into the skylight, marveling at how kind his friend was.

And as the result of admiring his friend's sheer selflessness, he fell, deeply and suddenly, in love with him.

It was very sudden, so sudden that it scared Gerald half to death and made him wonder where the hell those feelings had come from in the first place. They had washed over him like a wave, and he drowned in the torrent. He remembered staying up, both dreamy and dazed and confused, trying to make sense of it all.

That was almost two years ago.

From that point on the dreams began. His best friend was in his thoughts during his waking hours and during his sleeping hours. Whenever they would get together Gerald would cling to the time they shared with a renewed sense of clarity. He began to see Arnold in a way he had never seen him before. He saw the softness of his face, his fine peach skin, his messy mop of blond hair, and the greenness of his eyes. He saw how the sleeves of his oversized sweater would flop over his tiny hands, and how he would have to keep pulling them up. He saw how he would get little dimples in his cheeks whenever he smiled and heard the chiming in his voice whenever he laughed.

He had felt ashamed of it, it was _weird_, it wasn't _right. _Gerald had prayed to every God of every religion that _no one_ had noticed his change in feelings, and _especially _that _Arnold_ hadn't noticed as well. He knew full well that he had began to change around him once it started.

And so far, he hadn't. Truth be told though, the kid was as dense as a pile of bricks.

That alleviated his worries, although he _had _caught Helga Pataki frowning at him in class. But she already hated him so that probably her usual thing, and anyway she hated Arnold even more strongly, so there was probably no way that she was going to pose as a threat, _or _competition.

As the months passed his feelings only intensified, and there were some days where he would be thinking about Arnold, be it in his bedroom or during a particularly slow day at school. His thoughts would get so that Gerald felt himself blush from ear to ear, his entire body tensing and trembling and feeling as though he'd been set alight. More than once he had to set a notebook on his lap, in order to hide it, and pray that nobody else had seen.

Whenever Arnold would approach him, or text him, asking if he could hang out with him, or have a sleepover-_especially_ a sleepover-Gerald would feel such a sense of giddiness at the thought of spending time with his friend. Whenever he heard Arnold knocking at the door he would literally drop everything he was doing and rush over to greet him.

_"You're_ happy," Arnold would say, chuckling, rolling the tip of his baseball bat on the concrete, the breeze from the outside sliding through his hair.

He was a vision almost. It literally took every single ounce of willpower for Gerald not to sweep the kid off his feet and _just kiss him_, right on the spot. He was just so...damn _nice. _Those were the only words his befuddled mind could come up with. So _nice._

"Just...uh..._nice _weather today," Gerald would lie right back, scratching the nape of his neck, smiling awkwardly and hoping he didn't come off as too strange, "that's all."

Arnold's green eyes pierced him for a second before softening again. Then he would proceed to ask Gerald whether he was up for a game of ball, and almost automatically the boy would oblige.

There were also times when, after a long day, he and Arnold would sit at the docks at sunset and reminisce. They would sit there and talk, and all the while Gerald be so close to him, and listen and gaze at him and wonder at how soft his lips must feel.

As they sat draped under blankets, reading comic books by flashlight during those short summer nights, Gerald would feel the warmth of Arnold's body against him. So he would become lost again and think about what it must be like to hold the delicate boy close to him, to kiss him, to run his hands through his hair, and whisper about how much he loved him, underneath all those blankets.

And so he thought, and all the while Arnold would sit there, pressed up against him but too absorbed in the book to even notice the intense shade of red that was taking over Gerald's face, the sudden rush of warmth in his body.

Christ, he wanted him so badly it nearly drove him to tears sometimes, and Gerald was not the crying type. How could he _possibly_ have him? He'd probably come off as some creepy, lovesick pervert instead.

The fan continued to whir above him. Gerald blinked and then he found himself in his dimly lit room again. His eyes searched the room for his night light and he found it still plugged in its outlet, shining as brightly as ever.

It was all so _strange._ He had never felt this strongly about anyone in his twelve years of life. He had spent two entire years of it aching for his best friend.

For the life of him, he couldn't _understand._ How could he be such close friends with Arnold and _then _develop feelings for him a long time afterward?

Because he felt that way towards him, Gerald had dreamt and woke up, and because of waking up he did not go back to sleep and instead stayed up and remembered.

His mind went back to the dream again. It was still fresh. _Lemons and strawberries._ The taste of Arnold's lips.

His lips...and then there were the blankets, and the blue fabric of his sweater, and they were lying side by side, Arnold laughing softly and running his finger along his friend's cheek. And then Gerald was holding him close, and Arnold gazed up at him, blushing, his doe like eyes wide and green and soft and pretty.

_"I'm here for you, man,"_ he remembered murmuring to him in the dream, stroking his soft, soft hair. _"Because I love you. Remember that."_

Whatever words Arnold had answered him with, Gerald could not remember, along with the rest of the dream, which had made him feel so warm and delicious inside earlier.

"Fuck." He sat up in his bed and tried to recall, but to no avail. Eventually the boy gave up with a frustrated sigh and went back to sleep, confused and dazed. There wasn't any point. And anyway, there was no doubt that Arnold would come over tomorrow, as perky and as light-like as always, they were going to play video games...

The confusion faded off and he went to sleep with a smile on his face. The fan continued to spin above him and the night light still shone in its corner.


End file.
